


Can I Keep You?

by cherie_morte



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domestic, Ghosts, Kidfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: Sam makes a stupid mistake and now their ghost-free house has not one but four ghosts: one sweet little girl and her three greedy uncles. When they take out the baddies, however, Sam can't bring himself to let Dean salt and burn the cute one.





	Can I Keep You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krysania (Tat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat/gifts).



> This fic is from a 2009 fic challenge called [whenthewarsover](http://whenthewarsover.livejournal.com/), originally posted [here](http://infatuated-ink.livejournal.com/21045.html). I won't lie, I wrote this when I was pretty young and I'm pretty self-conscious about it. Someone requested that I repost it on AO3, so I did. Much of the story contradicts the last 8 seasons of the show; it was written before Season 5 started airing and is informed by a post-4x22 mentality/fic challenge.

It’s not that Dean didn’t like hunting now that things were back to the way they had always been. War over, simple hunts, him and Sam in the Impala without angels or demons sitting in the backseat…that was heaven for Dean. For the first time ever he’d genuinely enjoyed the hunts and since Sam seemed to need to keep it up, he was more than happy to go along with it. Even when years had passed, when his body started to protest under the strain and a tiny part of his brain told him it couldn’t take a hunter’s life much longer, he kept going. It was what Sam wanted and he didn’t know how to tell his brother he was ready to quit. 

The day eventually came, however, when he had to put his foot down. It was one thing to keep pushing after he was getting too old for it, but now Sam was getting older, too, and tonight it had nearly cost him his life. Dean was willing to stay quiet about what he wanted through a lot, he had for ten years. But there was no way Sam was going to die hunting. Sam was going to die an old man in bed. In his own bed, in his own home, after years and years of quietly living there.

“Alright there, asshole?” Dean asked, his tone surprisingly calm.

“Dean, what happened?”

“You…it nearly got you. Well, it did get you. But, I mean, it nearly killed you.”

“Thank God it didn’t. I guess that’s all that matters, right?”

“No, that’s not all that matters. Did you hear what I said? _It nearly killed you._ A ghost, Sam. A normal, run-of-the-mill, salt-and-burn ghost.”

“Let up on the ego-crushing. I messed up, I get it.”

“You don’t get it. You didn’t mess up. You just didn’t move in time. It was too fast for you.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Sam, I can’t lose you, not over something stupid like this. You’re too damn old for this job.”

“Oh and you’re not?”

“I am. That’s my point. We both are. We’re not going to be able to do this forever. I’m exhausted, and I know you are, too.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, closed it, and made a pensive face.

“You know, I never thought we were gonna have this problem,” Sam finally confessed. “I thought we’d be goners way before we started waking up with achy bones.”

“Me too. But here we are, stuck in the future whether we planned it or not. And…it’s time to retire, Sam.”

“I think I could get used to that. So…what do we do now?”

“Now?” Dean fought to suppress his excitement at finally saying the words he’d been wishing he could say for ten years. “Now we go home.”

Sam bit his bottom lip uncertainly, but his eyes were smiling. “I guess we’d better find out where that is, then.”

Four months. Four very long months. When all you have to do in your life is drive around in a car, it’s astounding how many houses you can see in four months. Dean was tired of seeing houses. Dean was not easily excited by wood paneling and curtains. Dean just wanted to belong somewhere and every time they walked out of a house and he could tell from Sam’s face that it was, again, not good enough, Dean’s heart sagged a little lower.

As much as he trusted Sam and wanted to believe, he had years of programming that warned him against it. This couldn’t last forever. Something had to go wrong. Every day that went by, Dean felt that much farther away from ever getting his dream. He just wanted to tie it down, make it permanent, go to sleep in a bed that was his—purchased not for three or four nights but forever. He didn’t care if that bed was under a leaky roof, if the windows let in too much sunlight so that he couldn’t even get a decent amount of rest before the sun woke him up. He was ready to settle in the first damned cabin they’d walked into.

But Sam had other plans. Sam wanted perfect. Sam had an image in his head of how everything was going to be—inside and outside—and he didn’t care how long it took to find it. Dean didn’t tell him how much it hurt every morning they woke up and they still had nothing to call their own.

He was almost ready to give up. Twenty-seven houses this week. That’s twenty-seven times his heart filled with hope only to get turned upside down and shaken empty like a pocket full of lunch money. It was a little exhausting.

“Forever,” Sam would say as they pulled out of every driveway. “We’re going to have to live with this forever. I want it to be perfect.”

Dean longed to tell Sam that perfect was anywhere he was and that forever was going to be over soon at the rate they were going. But even with all of that dejection soaking into his thoughts like poison, Dean couldn’t help the little flare of optimism this time. It was the way Sam’s mouth opened just a little when they stopped in front of the house. It was the way he walked up to the door and knocked—it would have been imperceptible to anyone else that his steps hurried up just a centimeter per second but it was easy for Dean to catch. Sam was excited. Excited in a way he hadn’t been since they started.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

“Hello, we’re here about the Open House.”

“Of course, of course, come right in, boys. I’m the realtor, Amy Fletcher.”

“I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean. We just wanted to look around for a bit. Maybe get a tour of the place?”

“I’d be thrilled to help you out, where would you like to start?”

“I’d love to start with the basement,” Dean said following Sam’s silent cues.

“I told you before we got here, I want to start upstairs.”

“Well, that’s just too damned bad, I said the basement.”

“Boys—why don’t I start downstairs with Dean and if you have any questions about upstairs you can ask me when we’ve both made it back to the main level?”

“That sounds good,” Dean said, turning flippantly towards Sam. “That is, if you think you can brave it without someone holding your hand, big guy.”

Sam scoffed perfectly and turned on his heels. Dean always had to fight not to laugh when he did that part—sometimes he wondered if Sam even realized how catty he was.

Somewhere during week three of touring houses (now three months and one week past), Dean had already mastered the art of not listening to a word the realtors said and still knowing just when to ask what to seem convincing. Today, Dean was too nervous to remember how to act and it was obvious Ms. Fletcher had seen his faraway expression and called him a loss before they even got to the living room. She went through the motions of the tour anyway and Dean followed mindlessly, wishing he could sense how it was going for Sam, if he still liked the house or if they were about to spend another month on cheap motel mattresses.

By the time they had seen the entire house and headed back to the kitchen to rendezvous with Sam, it was obvious he had long finished his own tour and been waiting for them.

“So, do you have any questions you would like me to answer before you go and think it through?” Ms. Fletcher asked sounding defeated.

“Actually, could you give us a moment to talk, please?” Sam said politely, but Dean noted the urgent glint in his eye.

“Of course, of course, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As soon as she had left the room, Sam bounced (Dean tried to remember to make fun of that in the future) toward him, the smile breaking out on his face nearly swallowing his features.

“Dean, Dean. It’s perfect. Dean, it’s everything we wanted. Isn’t it perfect?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said casually, as if this wasn’t the best thing he’d heard since “the Apocalypse is over, you did it!” He pointed to the EMF detector poking out of Sam’s jacket. “You tell me.”

“Clean, I checked every speck of dust. This house is normal and beautiful and perfect. I want to live here; I want us to live here. What do you think? Do you like it? It’s totally cool if you don’t. I’m just, you know, if you’re okay with this one, well, I’m okay with it too.”

Seeing the way Sam was practically glowing, Dean realized he _did_ care about finding the perfect house. He was sure he would have never stopped regretting it if they’d settled a day before finding the house that Sam wanted this much.

“Come here.”

Sam obeyed, immediately pressing Dean against the doorway to _their_ kitchen and waiting for Dean to finish responding.

“It’s yours,” he promised, fingers wrapping in the shorter hairs at the back of Sam’s neck. “Welcome home, Sammy.”

Sam joined their lips tenderly, just touching enough that Dean could feel love and taste “thank you.”

“Oh, Jesus!”

Sam and Dean jumped a little in surprise, and Dean growled at the interruption of what was, probably, the happiest moment of his entire life.

“I thought you said you were brothers!”

“What? Brothers? Lady, that’s disgusting,” Dean said incredulously, quirking his eyebrows at Sam. Sam’s laugh, muffled against his neck, sent warm waves through his body. He pulled his brother just a little bit closer before turning his attention back to the scandalized Ms. Fletcher. “We’ll take it, by the way.”

Moving in didn’t take very long on account of Sam and Dean not actually owning anything to unpack. They bought things, though, and had them delivered, each room coming to life a little more as it filled up. This morning’s truck had been the last. Sam dropped, exhausted, onto the couch (his couch) and looked around at the bare but comfortable living room. It looked right, exactly like the house he’d imagined, the home Dean deserved but wouldn’t have gotten if Sam hadn’t built it for him. It wasn’t exactly enough to thank Dean for a lifetime of protection, love, and sacrifice, but it was what Sam had to offer and he was proud of it.

“Dean, come here for a second.”

“Hold on, I’m just securing the last door.”

Sam figured that was worth the wait—Dean had been drawing salt lines and devil’s traps all day and he wasn’t going to let all of that work go to waste because Dean had gotten distracted before finishing the last one.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, appearing at the doorway.

“Sit.”

Dean obeyed, giving Sam a curious look.

“What’s it feel like?” Sam asked, his body drawing closer to Dean’s.

“A couch?”

Sam let out a disappointed huff.

“A really, really nice couch?”

“Finished, Dean. It feels like we’re actually here and this is actually done.”

“I like that feeling!” Dean angled his lips so that they would brush against Sam’s. “You still haven’t seen the furniture I bought.”

“The bed, you mean?”

Dean nodded.

“Show me then. And let’s break it in.”

Even when taking Sam’s surprising enthusiasm for homes and furniture into account, Dean didn’t quite understand how it lined up that Sam had turned into a Stepford wife. Not in a creepy, mindless droid way, just in a really adorable introducing-himself-to-the-neighborhood-and-making-friends-with-everyone way. Dean had to wonder if this was what Sam was like at Stanford, so effortlessly fitting into a world Dean had never gotten a chance to imagine. Dean almost regretted taking Sam away when he imagined he had always been this happy there, but he couldn’t get enough of knowing that a major part of what made Sam happy now was him.

Random people kept stopping by: introducing themselves, handing over assorted baked goods, and informing Dean that they had already met his charming partner and they were accepting of his lifestyle. Dean had a tremendous time imagining their faces if he told them that Sam also happened to be his brother. If Sam was at home, he would invite them in and offer them the desserts other neighbors had brought by. Everyone would accept, come in, stay too long, and be way too agreeable for Dean to wrap his head around.

“These people are _nice_ ,” Dean said, fascinated as Sam closed the door on the Petersons or the Johnsons or something to that effect.

“Weird, huh?” 

“So weird. But you need to calm down. Can’t just feed everyone nice who knocks on your door, Sam. If you keep this up, you’ll have to start making up beds for them.”

Sam smiled as if that didn’t sound so bad.

“Don’t you ever want to have sex again?” Dean asked, terrified. In response, Sam made up for the last week’s constant interruptions and proved to Dean that yes, he did.

Something was troubling Sam. He wanted to kick himself in the head for being such a malcontent—he finally had everything he wanted. Better yet, Dean was finally getting all the things he’d never allowed himself to want. As much as Dean complained about boredom and fussy neighbors, Sam knew Dean and he’d never expected to see him like this. Even when he’d dreamt of settling down and putting everything behind them, he’d worried Dean wouldn’t be happy, wouldn’t know how. But Dean’s lips kept tugging up when he thought Sam wasn’t looking. Sam hadn’t seen any of the ticks Dean had developed when he was bothered and trying to hide it from Sam (the ones Sam had always wished he couldn’t understand) since they walked into this house for the first time. Dean was happy, perfectly happy, for the first time ever and it was going to last until they were old and gray.

Sam wished he could share that, but he couldn’t. He was terrified that Dean would realize how agitated he was, that those nervous ticks would return, and it would be all his fault that Dean’s happiness was clouded. 

A lot of kids came over. It was the middle of summer and they were used to knocking on whichever door was closest and asking for lemonade or water. After word got out that they had baked goods to feed a stadium, the kids came even more mentioning that _oh, they’d forgotten lunch and there wouldn’t happen to be cookies?_ Dean loved it, tossed the ball with the kids and offered to help build swing sets. Sam had heard a rumor that a group of girls had been so upset that their tea party had an empty seat that Dean had filled it. This rumor was unconfirmed by Dean, who told Sam to go blow himself when he brought it up. All the same, Sam’s inner child delighted in seeing the Dean that had raised him making other children as happy as he’d tried to make Sam. But Dean had never seen this girl, sometimes Sam wondered if he’d ever really seen her. 

She was nothing like the other children. They were tanned from running in the sun for months, happy because there was no school and that was all they had to worry about. They were just regular kids. She was pale, too grown up at twelve; she was so sad Sam felt a strange rush of pain every time he saw her. 

She would knock at the door like the others. Sam would answer and she would smile at him, though her eyes were far away and frightened. The first time it had been as awkward as it should have been.

“Can you help me?”

“Sure? What’s wrong? Are you thirsty? Do you want some lemonade?”

“No.”

“Do you want to come into the air conditioning?”

“I am not allowed.”

“I understand. Your parents were right to teach you that.”

“I do not know where they are.”

“You’re lost, sweetie?”

“No, they are lost. I am right here. Thank you!”

Then she turned and walked away. Sam should have gotten it, really he should have. But his mind was just so far removed from all of that that it didn’t even begin to register. After the first visit, she would show up about once a week, but it wasn’t awkward anymore. She would smile at Sam, ask him questions, and always thank him before leaving. She would never accept lemonade, water, or cookies. When Sam invited her in, she would say she couldn’t. She never knew where her parents were. There was something so strange and heartbreaking about her that Sam couldn’t shake it, not even after she’d been gone for hours.

Sam was in the kitchen putting groceries away when he heard a knock at the door and somehow he knew it would be her.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, sweetheart, how are you today?”

“I am well, thank you, and yourself?”

“I’m alright.”

“How is Dean?”

“He’s good, too.”

Sam was always surprised when she mentioned Dean, because he didn’t remember telling her about him and they’d never met.

“May I come in, please?”

“Oh…sure. Do you want some lemonade or cookies?”

As soon as she was inside, she took Sam’s hand affectionately and began talking like she’d never talked before. She told him her name was Kitty, she was twelve, she had a mommy but no daddy. She made herself at home. She was still sitting on the couch, talking animatedly while Sam listened from the kitchen where he was finishing putting away the groceries, when Dean got home.

“I should go,” she said sadly.

“What? Why? I want you to meet Dean!”

“I fear Dean will not like me very much. Thank you for the cookies, and for being home.”

She walked out the door at the same time Dean came in through the back. Sam didn’t get it until later that night when Dean busted into the room where Sam was reading in bed.

“Sam, you moron. You screwed up the salt line on the front door when you came in from the store. You gotta be more careful, man. You could have let something in.”

Sam’s mouth dropped a little. “Uhh, Dean. I think I did.”

He told Dean about the little girl, about how she’d finally been able to come into the house, how convinced she had been that Dean wouldn’t like her. Dean scowled but in the end let it go.

“She left, right? And she didn’t try to hurt you? The salt lines are back down, she won’t get in again. No harm done. Just be more careful.”

Sam was _inside of him_ the first time he heard them. If there was a good time for Dean to find out his house was haunted, that really was not it.

“Did you just hear something break downstairs?”

“Dean, I can hardly hear you talking right now, can we—oh, Jesus—can we talk about this another time?”

Dean pulled Sam closer and moved his hips in a way he knew was going to bring Sam off immediately. 

“I heard voices,” he explained as Sam released. Sam slumped on top of him dejectedly.

“This cannot be happening.”

But it was happening, and not just in the middle of their sex sessions, either. It was happening while they were sleeping, while they were having breakfast, and, according to the smashed objects they found in the evening, while they were at work.

“If they ruin my paneling, I’m going to kill them,” Sam pouted.

“You’re going to kill them anyway, genius. Come on, we have to figure this out so we can get the bones and burn them.”

“Wait a second, do you hear that?”

“What now?”

“Crying. Someone’s crying downstairs.”

Sitting on the floor in the living room was Sam’s friend Kitty. Sam’s friend Kitty who had apparently never actually left the house before the salt was back down and who had somehow let in a few of her closest ghost buddies. Around her, things were falling and voices were taunting. Three invisible voices. Poltergeists. Dean hated poltergeists.

Sam ran out of the room and busted back in a minute later with some of the bags they’d had leftover from past poltergeist hunts. The spirits immediately calmed but Kitty stayed crying on the floor as if there’d been no change.

Sam sat down next to her and put his enormous arms around her soothingly. Dean saw him shiver from the cold but aside from that, he could have been hugging his own daughter.

 _Oh shit,_ Dean thought.

“There, there, sweetie. They’re gone. It’s okay, shush.”

“What the hell was that?” Dean demanded.

Kitty looked up at Dean as terrified as she’d been of the spirits. “Please do not hurt me! He is going to hurt me.”

“No, no, we want to help you. What happened? Who were they?”

“They were my uncles. They did not like me. They wanted the house, so they made my papa go away and then they tried to make me go away, but I could not because mama was alone. I took care of her and made it so they could not hurt her. Now they follow me. And they scare me.”

“A word in the kitchen?” Dean said tensely, he looked like he was about to have an aneurism.

Sam promised to come right back and gave Kitty one last squeeze before following Dean out of the room.

“This is beautiful! You let a ghost in with three psychopathic poltergeists _attached to her_. The good news is, if they’re sticking around to bother her, they should all go after we’re done with her.”

“We’re not. We can’t.”

“We are. We have to.”

“Dean, you saw her, she’s not a vengeful spirit!”

“But she’s got three tied to her and how long is she going to stay friendly when they’re tormenting her for eternity? I told you what Tessa told me, Sam. They all go sour after a while. She’ll be a monster; we’ll be doing her a favor.”

“No, she’s been dead for a hundred years and she’s still just a little girl.”

“How do you know that?”

“Come on, look at how she’s dressed. How she talks. Her name is _Kitty_ for God’s sake. When was the last time you met someone under 90 who called herself Kitty instead of Kathryn voluntarily?”

“Alright, I see your point. So she’s a stubborn little thing. But you can tell just looking at her. She’s terrified. She’s desperate. She won’t be so cute in another hundred years.”

“She’ll be okay if we get rid of them!”

“What’s the point of letting her live like that, Sam? She’s a ghost, she stuck around to help her mom which, believe me, I respect, but there’s nothing left for her. Let’s get the information we need and put this behind us, okay?”

Sam’s eyes were glossy but he nodded. He knew Dean was right. It was crazy to get attached to a ghost, cute little girl or not. He’d known that before he knew almost anything.

It hadn’t been difficult to learn where the bodies were. Kitty didn’t seem to connect the fact that if they found her uncles they would also find her. She had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. She told them the names of the three poltergeists and where in the old cemetery her family would be.

“I want to stay with her. Help her when, you know, it happens. You can handle it without me, right?”

Dean didn’t like this one bit but Sam had gotten attached whether he wanted him to or not and there was no way he could tell Sam no when he’d already delivered the news that had Sam’s eyes welling up.

“Yeah, of course, Sammy. You just take care of her while you can. It’s gonna be better, just remember that.”

“I know, I know it but I don’t think I believe it.”

Sam felt a little dead himself. He was sitting on the floor with a little girl he kind of adored, promising that she would be okay, that he was going to protect her, and waiting for his brother to kill her with his permission. He felt rotten and not about the things he should have felt rotten about as a hunter.

“I miss my mama less when you’re around,” she said, snuggling into Sam, who was freezing but not about to tell her so.

“You’re going to see your mom very soon, Kitty,” Sam promised, glad to finally not have to lie.

“She’s going to come home now?”

“Not exactly, baby. You’re going to go to her.”

“I do not know where she went. I do not even know where I am unless you are around. It is scary when you are not here.”

“It’s not going to be scary anymore.”

“You are nice, can I keep you?”

“Keep me for what?” Sam laughed.

“While I grow up. You can take care of me. Promise you will not go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam finally replied firmly. “And neither are you.”

“Dean?”

“Yes, little brother, I’m very busy and important right now.”

“You can’t do it.”

“What the hell do you mean I can’t do it, Sam? I have to, remember that conversation we had twenty minutes ago?”

“I know, Dean, I know. But it was different.”

“What the hell was different? Unless Kitty suddenly stopped being dead, which I swear is not as easy as it seems to us, she’s still a ghost and I’m going to waste her.”

“She doesn’t know, Dean. She doesn’t know she’s dead. We can help her cross over but not like this,” Sam sounded desperate, destroyed. “Please Dean, please. I promised. I don’t want to give her up.”

Sam heard Dean sigh and hang up the phone. In the next fifteen minutes, Sam heard the sound of poltergeists being extinguished three times. Kitty was still curled up in his arms when Dean walked in the door, passed the living room quietly, and went straight to sleep.

It was so bizarre that by the next morning it seemed perfectly commonplace to Dean. He was a retired ghost hunter who happened to have killed Lucifer. He lived with his brother and lover, the Anti-Christ. In retrospect, adopting a ghost was among the least weird things to happen to his family.

They fell into a routine pretty easily, masquerading as a perfectly normal family until they were a perfectly normal family. Sam had a maternal streak that bordered on ridiculous; he would insist that Kitty go to bed on time every night, enjoying the normalcy of fighting with her about it. When Dean tried to point out that she was a ghost and didn’t need sleep or even, strictly speaking, exist when she wasn’t consciously remembering to, Sam would throw the puppy eyes in his direction and silently beg him not to spoil his fun. Every night Sam cooked dinner and all three sat down, they would discuss their days until Kitty would inform them she was not hungry and Sam would complain about how thin she was before excusing her.

Dean was back to the freakishly exhilarating state of being happy all the time for no particular reason, and now he didn’t even have the occasional worry that Sam wasn’t as comfortable. His qualms with keeping Kitty didn’t quite go away, but they stopped mattering. Dean learned to love her like a daughter because she was Sam’s baby and Sam had always been his. Sam would put off telling her that she was a ghost “for one more day” until years had passed and Dean stopped asking. He knew it had to happen eventually, that they couldn’t leave her behind when they went, but they were all happy and Dean saw no reason to make it happen when she wasn’t at risk of becoming a vengeful spirit. He didn’t want her to leave almost as much as Sam didn’t want her to leave.

Sometimes other hunters would stop by. Kitty idolized Jo and followed her like a puppy. Ellen was a little uncomfortable about the whole thing once it had been explained to her. And Bobby? Bobby had been the biggest scare Sam and Dean had faced in a long time. He had, of course, been the only person to figure Kitty out on the spot. He looked at her, looked at the brothers, and rolled his eyes. A newspaper whacked Sam in the head, they were informed that they were the “two stupidest sons-of-bitches” Bobby had ever had “the great displeasure of knowing”…and then Bobby had complimented Kitty’s dress as if she were a real twelve-year-old and gone on with his business. He never hinted at finding it unusual again.

Years passed like that—long and unblemished ones—but even the Winchester brothers couldn’t live forever. Sam and Dean made it to old age and then some, just like Dean had always dreamed but never believed they would. One day he woke up and realized that his brother wasn’t breathing right, hadn’t been for a long time. It was bittersweet, knowing that it was going to be easy for Sam, that it would come after so much happiness, but that he would have to watch it happen. He was the older brother, he thought it fair that it should happen to him first, but short of making another deal, Dean had to accept that Sam didn’t have that long to go.

Sam wasn’t bothered by it at all. The sicker he got the more he smiled. Nothing about him changed except for the time it took him to do things and the number of times he told Dean he loved him. Dean never got sick of hearing it. Sam would say it every day and he cherished it every time. Finally, towards the end, even Kitty figured it out. All of it.

“Papa, is daddy going to be okay?”

“I’m not sure how, but I’m pretty sure he will be.”

“Is he going to die?”

Dean swallowed the lump. He hadn’t cried in thirty years, not since Bobby had taken an equally painless voyage out, and he didn’t want to cry now. Not yet. Sam was alive and Dean wouldn’t mourn him while he was still there and still smiling.

“Yeah, sweetie, I think he is.”

Kitty was quiet for a long time.

“It feels familiar,” she finally said. “Like…like it is not the first time this is happening to me.”

Dean closed his lips tightly and averted his gaze.

“Am I a ghost?”

Dean reluctantly looked at her. He’d forgotten that ghosts could cry.

“I am not supposed to be here, am I? I was supposed to go…you were supposed to—“

“No, we weren’t. You’re supposed to be here as long as we are.”

“But I do not know what to do. I do not know where to go.”

Dean felt sick at the thought that his last act would have to be salt-and-burning his and Sam’s daughter.

“We’re going to figure it out the right way. Sam’s going to figure it out, okay?”

For obvious reasons, there wasn’t much literature on how to pass on after 100 years as a ghost readily available. Even with Sam’s skill for researching these kinds of things, Sam didn’t exactly know how to call up a reaper for Kitty and before he could find a way (or before he told Dean the way Dean had been suspecting he knew but wasn’t sharing), his time ran out.

It wasn’t as hard as the last time by a lot, but it wasn’t a great day for him. He knew he would see Sam soon, that Sam had gotten the most out of life, none of that made it easier. Kitty made it easier, but Dean was still in a miserable state the day after the funeral and as much as he loved his neighbors and appreciated their sympathy, he wanted to yell at whoever was knocking to leave him the hell alone more than he wanted to get up and open the door. But whoever it was had to be one stubborn bastard and the knocking was starting to give Dean a headache.

“You little shit.”

Sam was leaning against the back door, looking exactly the way he’d looked in his prime. Exactly the way he’d looked when Dean fell in love with him. “That wasn’t the reception I was hoping for. Kind of the one I was expecting, though.”

“I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you, I swear.”

“You know how, Dean. I’m not going to fight you.”

“You’re not supposed to…you were supposed to go on.”

“And I will…eventually. I have some unfinished business.”

“Kitty?”

“That too. But mostly, no.”

“Then what?”

“Let me in, Dean. You know why I couldn’t go and I know you can’t say no and leave me out here.”

Dean broke the salt line and the younger Sam pulled him into a close, chilly hug.

“You’re pretty solid for being a three day old ghost.”

“I didn’t forget the tricks we learned spirit walking.”

“Hitting on you right now would probably be really inappropriate, right?”

“Extremely. I won’t truly feel welcome until you make the ‘just how solid are you?’ joke, but know that there will be none of that. I am here to use my awesome spirit powers to make your life sinfully easy, not sinfully sinful.”

Dean pouted but his eyes sparkled with the mirth of a man half his age.

Nobody ever had an easier last year on Earth than Dean Winchester. This was fair, in his humble opinion, on account of how much his previous last year on Earth had sucked. He had two ghosts waiting on him hand and foot and the constant company of the family that had been everything to him. When the day came that Tessa knocked on the door (she wasn’t the local reaper, but she’d called in some favors to finally get the only man to slip through her fingers), Dean was tired, happy, and not a bit sorry to go. He held Sam’s hand and Sam held Kitty’s and all three moved to the next world together. Whatever that meant. 


End file.
